


Experimentation in Mutilation

by starscreamfan2244



Category: Mach GoGoGo | Speed Racer
Genre: Blood, Chap 2: ouch, Fingernails, It'll be gay later on but for now it's just vaguely gay, It's not gay I swear, M/M, No Homo, Restraints, Tags will be continuously updating, Torture, Whumptober 2019, Yikes, chap one: friends run their hands through other friend's hair, jeez uh ouch, you're sick i help you no homo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-10 20:09:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20857544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starscreamfan2244/pseuds/starscreamfan2244
Summary: Whumptober 2019 Fellas! I'm just doing this for Speed Racer, and there will be a new chapter every day up until the 31st.  Idk what all is gonna happen so, uh, fair warning that at times there may be some weird or triggering content in the future.





	1. Fever

**Author's Note:**

> Shaky hands as a prompt just wasn't doing it for me. Hopefully this sickfic will tide you over until tomorrow, when we start getting into the real tough stuff.
> 
> I'd like everyone to keep in mind that my fics are in an au, and that your expectations of X and ID may be very different from what you get, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! I'd also like to mention that Charles is my name for the dear Inspector!

He could smell it. The putrid scent filled every room, accompanied by a heavy retching. Brushing his teeth, Charles pondered the scent. Black Tar. Rotten liver. A perfume of nicotine and vinegar. He knew something was wrong when Rex hadn't clambered into bed with him, as was his usual desire. Charles stared at the wall, past the mirror, into the drywall. Like if he could push his vision, he could see the crumpled heap of a man on the other side. The only thing he could see was his reflection.

Standing outside the guest bathroom door, he hesitated. What would he say?

“Rex, it smells like you're dying.”

Maybe.

Giving one last look at the door, he made his way to the kitchen. He could still hear it. Violent, ragged gasping drowning out the water pouring from the kitchen sink. Sometimes, he could only stand and listen. He lifted the pot from the sink and placed it on the stove, letting it simmer while he grabbed his ingredients.

Chicken powder, home dried. Onion, garlic, cayenne, ground into a powder. Ground pepper corns. Chives, onion flake. Season salt to taste. Medium heat.

Soon enough, the scent of bile was replaced with a warm, golden broth. Heaving replaced by a bubbling brew. Charles brought the ladle to his mouth, blowing gently before a jolt shot through him. The ladle clattered to the ground, boiling hot broth splashing on his arms. His eyes shot to the bathroom, where Rex stood, leaning against the door. Or....It wasn't his Rex. A pallid, trembling man leaned against the door, the vibrant purple under his eyes a shocking contrast. His shirt was stained with sweat and spit.

“Charlie...” He groaned. Despite his arms screaming out, Charles could only focus on how he swayed, how his eyes couldn't look in one direction. He moved to catch him before the floor did. His skin was clammy and sticky. Charles dragged him over to the nearest chair. The way his arms dragged against the floor stuck out in his mind.

“Have you seen my keys, Charlie?” He pressed his hand onto Rex's. “What are you talking about?”

He didn't respond. His eyes, nervous and bloodshot, darted around, likely in search of the keys. Charles thought for a second what would happen if he found his way out the door. He was more likely to snap his neck than make it to his car. He pressed his finger to his cheek, making him face him.

“You're not leaving, Rex, you're sick.”

That seemed to wake him right up. “I'm not....mmm, I'm not sick. I didn't mean to fall. You're just...” He trailed off again. A searing noise from the stove caught Charles's attention. He moved to turn it down at the same time Rex attempted to get up, resulting in a tangle of arms, hair, and furniture. He grabbed the collar of Rex's shirt, jerking him out of the way of a splash of boiling hot broth trailing down the stove. Disentangling himself, Charles turned off the stove.

A hand curled around his ankle.

“You pushed me that time. I didn't fall. I'm not sick.”

Charles sighed. He knelt down beside him. “Look at me, Rex.”

“Hmm?”

He brushed his auburn hair off his forehead, replacing it with his hand. “You're on fire. You spent three hours in the bathroom and you tossed and turned all night.” He trailed his hand from his forehead down to his chin. “You're not going anywhere, and even if you needed to do something, I wouldn't let anyone take you away.”

He placed a hand under his head, and an arm underneath his legs. Gently, he lifted him. “You need to rest, Rex. You've been out too long.” He placed him on the couch, knocking a blanket onto him. Feeling satisfied, Charles went to grab a mug from the shelf.

“But did you find them?”

Charles filled the mug halfway, then eyed the keys on the counter. “They're around here somewhere.” He said, slipping them in his pocket.

He knelt by the couch. “Drink this for me.” Rex looked at the mug for a second, then turned his face.

“It's not medicine, it's just soup. You won't get better on an empty stomach.” He pressed the mug into his hand. “And I won't leave you alone till you drink it.” The thought must not've been very pleasant in his tired mind, as Rex downed the cup very slowly. “More.” He finally said. Not demanding, just the fragment of a longer thought.

As Charles refilled the mug, he heard Rex shift. “I'm not sick. I'm just...tired. I'm just gonna rest my eyes here...”

His breathing shifted, slow and steady. Charles pressed a cool rag to his forehead, and left the mug on the coffee table. “Take all the time you need.” He whispered, trailing his fingers through his hair.


	2. Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles finds himself in over his head.  
Please don't read on if you're uncomfortable with torture or blood.  
(I know these are kinda late sorry)

Frigid water crashed onto him, jolting Charles awake from an uneasy sleep. His shoulders jerked against the restraints.

“There he is. Morning, sweetheart!”

A familiar voice, yet his vision was dark. A hand trailed through his hair. “Now, Inspector, we don't quite have a lot of time together. I'd love to spend hours playing games with you, but we are on a strict schedule. So, I'll give you two options. Tell me what I want to know, or I'll pull every tooth from your gums.”

Fingers trailed down his cheek, seeking out the curvature of his lips. A rough thumb brushing against his bottom lip. “It'll be a shame when you're dead.” Whispered with only the intimacy a torturer could muster.

Charles reared his head back and clamped his teeth down on his thumb, pressing past the skin into the bone. A heavy metallic flavor erupted in his mouth. The man let out a gargled scream, yanking his thumb out of his mouth. The crack of his hand against his cheek sent the chair crashing into the wall. The man panted heavily.

Charles could hear him mumble and rifle through his various tools. “Fine, I see how we're going to play this game, angel. I can at least take the time to teach you a lessen.”

Cool hands gripped at the fingers on his right hand, bending and turning them. Choosing. The only sound now was Charles's rapid breathing. Something cool and metallic trailed along his pointer finger. 

“Don't say I didn't warn you, boy.”

A shiver trailed down his spine as something clamped down on his fingernail. No, not something. Pliers. The metal tip dug into the flesh beneath his nail.

Charles bit into his cheek, stifling his moans as his nail was slowly torn from his finger. Blood oozed into his mouth and down his fingertip. Hot, hot tears bled into his blindfold as he bit down harder. 

Pain shot down his arm as his nail finally released. He could only dig into the chair with his other hand, trying desperately to just breath. The cool hand of his tormentor gripped his hand, stroking it.

“I didn't have to do that. It could be so simple, Inspector. Just cooperate.” 

With the little saliva he had left, Charles spat out a mixture of spit and blood at the man's face. “Fuck you!” He panted. 

“I see.” The cool tip of the pliers dug into his middle finger. 

“As you wish, Inspector.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed it, leave comment and some kudos! Mayhaps subscribe?


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